


everyone loves the villain

by Odaigahara



Series: Whumptober 2019 [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Brother Feels, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-07 13:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: Whumptober #16: "Pinned Down"*He wondered if Roman had gotten bored and returned to the mind palace yet. How long would he leave Remus, there in the rubble of his ruined kingdom? Long enough to be poetic, that was how Remus would do it. Left to be freed only by the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter or a witch's apprentice. Trapped screaming for a thousand years. Or maybe he'd come back to chop off his head, his legs, his arms, put them all in separate little boxes and lock them away in far corners of the Imagination to be retrieved in some future quest, like inHellboy!Remus could get behind that.





	everyone loves the villain

Roman and Remus were both Creativity, so the Imagination mirrored them _both_, whatever Remus’ fancy brother liked to think about it. Parts of it were a shining, smiling kingdom, full of beasts for Roman to cut down and villagers to laud his actions- but Remus preferred the darker borders, the barren places where hyenas skulked like in _The Lion King _and lightning slashed the sky in halves.

The Imagination’s forsaken countries were dangerous as a matter of course, pitted with sulfur-belching volcanic pockets and vicious creatures no sword could touch, stone spikes reaching up like fingers from the ground and deep-sunken magma in crevices that threw up heat like a furnace.

In his games with his brother, Remus' world played the evil kingdom, the wastelands of orcs and sour goblins, the faceless hordes of the _enemy_. Roman loved him for it, for all that he griped and moaned about ruining his _perfect _nation; he got to summon great armies of knights and heroes, war-mages and battle-elephants, to send out against someone with a mind that he could fight. Oh, the strategies, the lovely games- the hostages, the casualties and the ruins! Remus loved nothing more than to drag out his Morningstar and face his brother across a battlefield. Roman could give his righteous speeches, Remus could stick out his tongue and ignore him, and they could fight for _hours, _throwing whatever they could think of at each other.

It was lovely. Remus lovedit (_sexually_) and sought out opportunities whenever they arose. His greatest triumph was still the Silent Hill theme, so terribly wonderful that Roman had shrieked like a little girl and taken three days to get up the nerve to route Remus out of his castle. 

That had been _fun_, hadn’t it?

Much more entertaining to think of than how his leg was pinned behind his knee at the moment. Definitely more fun than the crushing agony of the tons of rock that had fallen on him in the final battle, gravity dragging him down like a rag doll from the heights of his tower to the ground. Or maybe it wasn't more fun, who knew? Not _Remus_.

Remus was too busy staring up at the storm-wrought sky, eyes trailing the plumes of ghastly smoke from the piles of corpses he made sure his armies left behind, ears pricked for the screams of wounded soldiers and mounts. Roman never liked that level of realism, but Remus reveled in it. He was the realer brother, after all; dragons had never existed, but murderers? Torturers of animals? Freak accidents that stole loved ones? Those always happened. Those were inevitable, like Remus in Thomas' shower eating deodorant or making himself choke on it so he could feel how his vision grayed out when he couldn't breathe. 

His skin was pale and clammy, slick with sweat; he couldn't move, trapped as he was, but he still cried out weakly when the rubble shifted, clawed at the ground and the rocks like they might let him free. The pain was freeing and damaging all at once, and he didn't know if he was in agony or aroused, about to laugh or cry. He wondered if Roman had gotten bored and returned to the mind palace yet. How long would he leave Remus, there in the rubble of his ruined kingdom? Long enough to be poetic, that was how Remus would do it. Left to be freed only by the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter or a witch's apprentice. Trapped screaming for a thousand years. Or maybe he'd come back to chop off his head, his legs, his arms, put them all in separate little boxes and lock them away in far corners of the Imagination to be retrieved in some future quest, like in _Hellboy! _Remus could get _behind_ that. Hours in the dark, weeks, centuries, screeching and babbling away like a demented owl. _Look at me, so mythological! _It was going to hurt _so bad._

Remus didn't feel ashamed of the tears leaking from his eyes, because Remus didn't do shame. They were just there, like hydrochloric acid poured over his face. Sulfuric acid, maybe. Eating through the skin until he screamed and screamed and screamed, and then it wouldn't feel like every little bit of his leg was being crushed all at once. A compromise! Like icing a wound so it froze and the limb fell off instead. That made sense. Remus was proud of that one.

The plumes of smoke weren't just smoke anymore. Now they were _fire, _creeping up like a nervous wolf and biting at the edges of the ruins, following trails of black tar and scattered hay. Remus gasped out another laugh as the heat started to kiss at his skin. Not close enough to burn, no, not yet-- but what a conflagration when it did! That would fix his leg. Fix it up so it fell off, skin melting in black sloughs and showing glistening pink underneath, all blistery down to the bone and he could watch it scorch. He could eat bits of it like barbecue, and then maybe it would let him die. Wouldn't that be _grand_.

Remus sat back and waited, eyes still streaming tears whose origin he couldn't guess. Stinging from the smoke? Pain? A deep, incorruptible sadness at the core of his being that could only be solved by the magic and energy of _modern dance? _He hoped it was that last one. That last one sounded fun. He was giggling, it was so fun, or at least his chest was moving strangely and his breath was short. 

"Remus?" came a distant call, and he didn't call out because he didn't want to. He wanted to die, he'd decided. Die here in the fire and the rubble like a good villain and not see his brother's face harden behind his sword. That would really harsh his vibes. 

He could hear his brother muttering to himself. "Ugh, what is with these corpses- are those maggots? Remus, are those maggots? Why do you do these things, oh my God, that's horrifying, they're in her eyes! In her _eyes_, Remus, instead of a twinkle or a general air of knowledge!" His voice was rising again, strident like he always was and so _heroic, _my my, like the prince of anyone's dreams.

Fire ran up Remus' leg. He screamed, or maybe he didn't, but either way Roman started shouting and running around. Remus blinked and there was his brother above him, all red-faced and scared like Remus could hurt him. He tried to think fondly of ways to hurt him to oblige the expression, like boring holes through his wrists or making him eat all this nice flaming tar, but he couldn't keep the thoughts in his head. Things were stranger than usual, and he couldn't take his eyes off his brother, couldn't stop panting at the bite of heat on his crushed leg. There had been tar on it. Fire went places people couldn't. Now it had gone to his leg and he didn't want to scream, suddenly, but it seemed to be happening anyway.

Focus was never his strong suit, but after he'd gotten his leg crushed it had gone away completely, merrily merrily merrily on its way. Roman, though, Roman didn't seem to lose focus. He was the favored child, the Abel to Remus' Cain, and Remus tried to tell him that but suddenly the rubble was lifting from his leg, fire banished like so much smoke and mirrors, and he was screaming again.

Strange. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Roman's face was pale too now, eyes wide like moons in his head and skin like the Pillsbury Dough Boy and oh, Remus could just eat him up! Eat him up and up and maybe they'd be one person again, who knew? Two sides of a cardboard cutout. _Come on, baby, make me whole._

"You seem even more incoherent than usual," Roman said tersely, pulling Remus loose, and then the ground was soft grass and the night sky was gently clouded and Remus' head was on Roman's leg, his own leg stretched out in front of him. "Are you _okay_? What were you _doing_, lying there like that?"

"Contemplating!" Remus said happily, staring up at the stars. The hurt was distant now, like an old friend who'd stopped calling so much. Remus wondered if it felt lonely. "Contemplating my _butthole_."

"You couldn't have done that while you _weren't _burning alive?" Roman asked incredulously, like he was offended by the thought of it and oh, his hand was in Remus' hair, so soft and close. Remus pushed his head into it and felt Roman scritch his scalp and it was wonderful, it _really was_, he'd never fix his leg if this was his brother's reaction to it broken. 

"I didn't think of it," Remus said, closing his eyes to savor the feeling. "Didn't think of it at all. Don't _stop_."

Roman rolled his eyes, but he kept scratching Remus' head, letting him loll his head back like a smelly corpse, even after giving a long-suffering sigh and snapping Remus healed. He cleaned him too, suffocating him with the nauseating scent of rose soap, but Remus could forgive that.

He could forgive a lot of things as long as Roman was there, staying close and holding him gently, ever so gently, like if he was careful their flesh would melt back together.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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